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A Series of Malfoy Events	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11220 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Nine—Why Malfoy Likes Playing Rough
            “And so I don’t have anything to report yet,” Harry had to say. He tried to ignore the tight set of Kingsley’s jaw. After all, he had done his duty, and protested when Kingsley first sent him on this insane assignment. It wasn’t his fault if Kingsley was finally having to grasp the insanity and admit he’d been wrong. “The Bludgers bore no lingering trace of enchantment. No one has attacked him since that illusory assault on the gates.”
            “That’s still something to report.” Kingsley sounded like a cat who had just decided that the string trailing across the floor must be a mouse. Harry leaned against his chair and shook his head sadly.
            “I already reported it, though, sir,” he pointed out, and watched Kingsley visibly struggle not to move from cat to lion.
            “Very well. Then continue to stay as close to Malfoy as you can, and hope that something else will happen that can lead you to a good guess about what’s going on.” Kingsley abruptly glanced up with a wicked smile. “At least your undercover status seemed assured.”
            “What have they been saying?”
            Kingsley’s smile was worthy of Voldemort at this point.
            “What is it?”
            Voldemort watching Nagini devour someone, Harry thought, by the time Kingsley finally deigned to answer him. “Oh, nothing much. Only that Mr. Malfoy may finally have met his match with someone who likes to play as hard as he does.”
            Harry sighed. It figured that there would have been at least one photographer in place to record his “practice” match with the Falcons. Malfoy probably arranged to have cameras snapping his picture in his bedroom in case his fans missed one exciting moment of him brushing his teeth.
            “And who managed to play games with the Snitch and the ring and the Quaffle,” Kingsley went on, and his voice had a warning tone to it now. He had one eye on Harry, too. “And Mr. Malfoy’s heart.”
            Harry half-shrugged. “At this point, sir, what do you think would make the bigger scandal, our breaking up or some people suspecting that I’m not in love with Malfoy despite being his fiancé?”
            Kingsley took the hint, and nodded. “I only wanted to warn you to be careful, Harry. Push this too far, and the people who’re hunting Malfoy might not be the biggest threat you have to face. Some fans can be rather vengeful when stalking people they think had the chance to sleep with their obsession.”
            “I know,” Harry muttered. It was one reason that at least a few of his dates had been interrupted in the past, after all. “Well, sir, thank you for the warning. I’ll do what I can.”
            But he knew backing down from his competition with Malfoy, or breaking off the “relationship,” would be his absolute last choices. And not only because the mystery of what was going on had started to intrigue Harry, and he felt more than a little responsible for Malfoy after saving the bloke’s life.
            Breaking up with him, buckling under the pressure, backing away—any of those would say he couldn’t endure it. Any of those would let Malfoy win.
            Harry wouldn’t die to win, but he would do the equivalent of dangling upside-down from his broom by his knees with one hand on the Snitch and the other on his wand.
            And he ought to know I can do it by now, too.
*
            “What’s that, mate?” Ron was leaning over his desk, probably caught by the shape and size of the Quidditch tickets in Harry’s hand more than their color, which was pure gold marked with veins of silver.
            Harry studied the tickets for a second, then nodded. “A bribe.”
            “For what?” Ron leaned back enough to study his face, probably trying to decide if Harry was serious.
            Harry sighed and looked at him. “You know I’m dating Malfoy now?”
            Ron grinned. “Good one.”
            Harry resisted the temptation to bury his head in his hands. Neither of his friends had questioned him about his dates with Malfoy, but for opposite reasons. Hermione, with one steady glance, had probably assessed it right away as an undercover assignment for the Aurors, and known he couldn’t talk about it. She wouldn’t push until matters were safely over and Harry could talk about it, or until he was in greater danger than seemed likely to happen right now.
            Ron, on the other hand, persisted in treating the whole thing as a joke, another rumor the papers had made up about Harry, like when they had said he was dating Celestina Warbeck a year ago. He had also decided that Harry, for his own reasons, was going along with the joke.
            Harry supposed he couldn’t complain. It kept Ron from exploding in anger, and that was all to the good. But it did make certain discussions difficult.
            “Anyway.” Harry held up the golden tickets and waved them around again. He had seen them before, although he’d always refused them himself. For some reason, people who wanted to bribe him had never taken the simple step of ensuring that they sent enough tickets for him and his friends. “These will let me get a good seat at the next Falcons game.”
            “I’ve never seen them with silver on them, though.”
            Harry smiled a little tightly. “No. That means I can only attend the game and have free meals and all the rest of it on one condition.” Malfoy’s elegant little note, which had arrived with the tickets, made that clear.
            “Well, what’s the condition?”
            Harry hesitated. But then he reminded himself that Ron thought it was a joke right now, and if he didn’t, he would still support his best friend. Maybe not with tact and diplomacy, but support was support.
            “Malfoy wants me to wear robes that are enchanted to go transparent when he, and only he, looks at me.”
            Ron opened his eyes wide enough that Harry saw all sorts of colors in them that he never had before. Then he fell off his chair and began howling in silent laughter on the floor, his arms clenched around his ribs.
            Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, laugh,” he said. “It’s not like you’re the one who has to do it.”
            Oddly enough, that sliced Ron’s laughter off at the root. He clambered up on the chair again and stared at Harry. “You’re considering going through with it?”
            “Um,” Harry said. “Ron, I’m dating Malfoy. I told you that.” He was sure he had told Ron that. He couldn’t have imagined all the jokes that Ron had made as a result.
            “But this.” Ron gestured towards the tickets and shook his head. “That’s sort of—exploiting yourself, whoring yourself out, for the sake of the joke. I mean, I know that you really want to turn heads and get one up on Malfoy, but is it worth it?”
            Harry was asking himself the same thing. He was a little annoyed that Ron had managed to put it in better words than he had, though.
            “He says he’ll be the only one who can see through my robes.” Harry did a drumroll with his fingers on the edge of his desk. He was sure that he knew what spell Malfoy wanted him to use, too, and it wasn’t as if it was a Dark one.
            “Holy shit,” said Ron, sounding a little dazed. Harry glanced at him and saw him sitting there with his mouth open. “You’re considering doing it. Really doing it.”
            “Yes,” said Harry, and suddenly something swooped down and took hold of him. Hermione would say it was recklessness. She would scold him and tell him not to do this for the sake of seeing Ron’s face and Malfoy’s, and then she would give him a cup of tea with a Calming Draught in it and ask him seriously if he’d been to see a Mind-Healer.
            But Hermione wasn’t here.
            “I’m going to do it,” Harry said, and he turned and smiled at Ron in a way that made Ron recoil. Harry laughed. He could feel wine running through him and rising in him, he thought, not blood. “Why not? It’s not like anyone else will be able to see through my robes and snap pictures. He promised.”
            “There was a time you would have trusted Voldemort’s promise more than Malfoy’s,” Ron said, and shook his head. “And now you’re going to do this. It’s more than a joke, isn’t it?”
            “For him,” Harry said, “I think it is.” He ruthlessly suppressed the surge of pity he wanted to feel. For one thing, Cassel had told him the truth, that Malfoy broke up with all sorts of people and only dated the ones he thought would complement him. He was just as likely to end their “engagement” before Harry did.
            For another, well, it was Malfoy, and he had already toyed with Harry enough, which the tickets proved. He deserved some payback.
            “What’s the point, though? I mean, if he wants to gape at you naked and you indulge him in that, what does he lose?”
            Harry gave a smile that won a tentative smile from Ron this time, although he still looked uneasy.
            “Because he’s going to see how much he’ll never get to have,” Harry said, and struck a pose. “What he’ll never get to touch.” He leaned closer and murmured, “Ron, I am going to drive him crazy.”
            Ron watched him in silence for a moment, his face locked in an expression Harry had never seen before. Then he swallowed a little and moved in, leaning down. Harry obediently leaned down with him. He was curious as to what Ron wanted to say next.
            “This is really important,” Ron whispered, and Harry nodded, anticipating some appeal that he not lose his heart to Malfoy, or some other promise that Harry would be able to give with a clear conscience.
            “Can you make the Falcons lose their next game, too?” Ron whispered. “That way, the Cannons have a chance of beating them.”
*
            Harry strolled into the box in his most ornate dress robes, a little stuffy and impersonal. Well, Malfoy hadn’t specified that he had to wear pretty robes.
            It was amusing to watch the wizards who ran security on the game open their mouths to speak to him, catch sight of the tickets flashing in Harry’s hand, and immediately start bowing and apologizing. Auror John Clearwater, walking beside Harry, snorted a little.
            “You must be something special to Malfoy,” he said.
            “Yes, I must,” Harry agreed blandly. Kingsley had insisted on Harry taking Clearwater for extra security, but as far as Harry considered it, it was a waste of time when Clearwater didn’t know about his mission to stay close to Malfoy and Harry wasn’t allowed to tell him. Harry simply tilted his head back and studied the sky above him, though, looking for…
            There it was.
            Malfoy cutting through the sky was unmistakable. He didn’t look like a falcon, Harry thought, despite the name of his team and the way he tended to circle above the field and stare down at it. He looked like a dragon.
            Harry made plans to tell him that the instant he saw him next.
            The security wizards ushered Harry and Clearwater to their private box at once, and brought bottles of wine and Firewhisky and plates of sweets that Harry assumed were expensive. Clearwater exclaimed with delight and immediately started eating.
            Harry lifted his head and stared skywards, instead. He saw the moment that Malfoy turned his head towards the box, which just meant those tickets had contained more precise instructions about their seating than Harry had been able to read.
            Harry smiled. He knew his robes had flickered and gone transparent when Malfoy looked at him, because of the way he jerked on his broom. He also knew that the spell had worked as it should have and Clearwater hadn’t noticed anything, because he was guzzling Firewhisky next to Harry as if it was a rare treat.
            “They do have good drinks here,” Clearwater muttered, and then picked up something that looked expensive from the tray of food and bit into it. Some bright green liquid leaked out. Harry looked politely away. “Holy hell.”
            Harry knew that Clearwater didn’t expect anything serious to happen here, and Harry was perfectly capable of defending himself if something did. Hell, maybe it would convince any enemies who were watching him and waiting for him to move on Draco’s case that Harry and Clearwater were both idiots and they could safely turn back to assaulting Draco.
            Besides. Harry had a game of his own to play here, and it didn’t have anything to do with Auror cases or Quidditch.
            He waited until Malfoy had circled back above their box and was watching for the first sight of the Snitch. Then he reached down and laid his hand casually on his thigh, above his cock. Clearwater was still too busy guzzling and slurping to notice, and their box was distant enough from other people that Harry wasn’t even worried about Omnioculars.
            Harry inched his hand down.
            Malfoy tilted his broom. Harry had the impression that they locked gazes across the distance for a minute, and Malfoy shifted a little forwards.
            Let that be a sign of discomfort, Harry thought, and ran one finger slowly down the crease of his robes above his groin.
            This time, Malfoy’s broom tilted too much, and he had to lower and then lift again to recover. It wasn’t much, not if you weren’t an expert on brooms. But Harry was, and he knew Malfoy’s connection with its magic had flickered.
            Just for a moment. Just like Harry’s robes. But a moment could be crucial.
            Harry kept looking at Malfoy and smiled sweetly. He had to wait again, because Malfoy apparently saw the Snitch on the other side of the pitch and took off after it, to hysterical shrieks from the crowd and the opposing Seeker from the Catapults.
            Harry sniffed. He’d never had much opinion of the Catapults’ Seeker, Thornie Wilder. Catapulted up to his position, indeed.
            But the next time that Malfoy flew overhead and Harry thought he was looking down enough for Harry’s robes to flicker, he reached up and rested his other hand on his chest. From Malfoy’s perspective, he would be barely touching one of his nipples.
            Again Malfoy’s broom tilted.
            Harry smiled, filled with a delirious, brain-pounding excitement, which he could only compare to the actual flying he’d done opposite the Falcons in that last practice game. His thumb slowly sneaked out and pressed down on his nipple, and he jolted a little with how it felt. Then he licked his lips and tilted his head further back, so that Malfoy could get a good glimpse of his collarbone and the hollow of his throat.
            Witch Weekly had once run a stupid article rating various parts of Harry’s body. His eyes had come in first, his smile second, and his collarbone and hollow of his throat third and fourth. Harry rolled his eyes almost frantically when someone showed the stupid thing to him.
            Now, he hoped it was true.
            I’m about to make your seat on your broom a bit uncomfortable, Malfoy.
            He didn’t dare touch himself much harder than he was, but he knew that he didn’t have to. Harry just sat there and made those little motions like he was about to wank or about to touch his nipple. When Clearwater glanced at him and asked a few questions, Harry was able to turn the motions of his hands into natural ones that reached for the drinks or the food easily enough.
            Some of the food was even good, and there were some small rolls of pastry fastened around bits of egg and meat that gave Harry another idea.
            He waited until Malfoy was passing close enough to the box, with slow deliberation, that the gesture wouldn’t be wasted. Then he slid a roll between his lips and closed his eyes, reveling in the taste, licking sharply as his teeth broke through the crust.
            “Fuck,” he whispered.
            Clearwater was glaring at him when he opened his eyes again. “I hardly think the game is going so badly that you need to resort to vulgar expletives,” he said.
            Harry concealed a snort. He’d never been on a case with Clearwater that resulted in him getting drunk, but he had heard, from others, that Clearwater got considerably more formal when he was pissed. “I’m just saying what I think,” he said, and then broke the rest of the roll with his teeth and licked his lips and fingers deliberately as he looked up at Malfoy.
            Malfoy, who was still hanging in the same place above the box and staring at Harry while, behind him, the Catapults’ Chasers were throwing the Quaffle through the hoop and Wilder was hurtling towards the ground with his hand outstretched.
            Harry raised his eyebrows and tilted his head a little. Malfoy snapped his head around and seemed to realize what was happening.
            Then he flew backwards.
            Harry found himself on his feet before he thought about it, shouting, along with half the crowd. Malfoy was merciless on himself, driving his broom through one of the hardest tests anyone could inflict on it. His mouth was set and his eyes trained dead ahead, and he wouldn’t turn to the side or up. He simply reversed and cut around the pitch, passing literally in front of the noses of people in other stands, and then he held out his open palm.
            The Snitch fluttered there, not having time to leap away before Malfoy closed his fingers on it.
            The shouts this time were utterly delirious. Malfoy bowed from the waist, and the commentator called the game for the Falcons. Harry swallowed some pastry and a bit of disappointment that he hadn’t been able to keep his promise to Ron and make Malfoy lose the game for the Falcons.
            That was what he was thinking, anyway, until Malfoy turned his head and looked at him.
            His eyes were afire, his face set in the hard way it had been when he kissed Harry the other day. Harry knew that, although he could only make out the lower part of Malfoy’s face all that well. And when he bowed again, it was directly at Harry’s box, and then he turned and flew towards the grass.
            Harry shook his head, feeling as if he’d awakened from a daze. He turned to Clearwater, wondering if he’d noticed anything, but his head was buried in the Firewhisky again.
            “Good game,” Clearwater muttered.
            Harry nodded, and wondered what he was supposed to do next. They could probably leave the box at any time and be shown out through some private special route, but he thought that was a bit anticlimactic after what he’d shown Malfoy and Malfoy had shown him.
            Even with no actual climax involved.
            Then he turned sharply, because one of the security wizards who’d escorted them into the box was entering. He held something out to Harry, gift-wrapped with an elaborate gauzy bow of white lace.
            “Seeker Malfoy said this was for you,” the man muttered, his eyes focused over Harry’s head on the far side of the stands.
            Harry undid the bow, and found it was the Snitch. Its wings still fluttered in what seemed to be a daze, and it didn’t make any attempt to get away from him.
            When he reached out and picked up the bow again, it flickered, probably with some spell similar to the one that made Harry’s robes transparent, and Harry could read a note meant only for his eyes.
            Dinner. Tonight. We have things to talk about. And you have some motions of your hand to complete.
*
Severus1snape: Thank you! Sadly, I don’t think Ron will decide this game was as brilliant.
moodysavage: Thank you! I hope this game also pleased.
SP777: Thanks! I remember you urging me to write more Quidditch stories.
Sure. You can tell me the idea, if you want.
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A Series of Malfoy Events